Juliana's POV
The memory of that basement lingered like a ghost. Four years old. Sold for five hundred dollars. And that boy—my savior—with his promise that seemed impossible back then.
I blinked away the images as the hospital door creaked open. A young man with messy brown hair and nervous eyes poked his head in. Dylan Ollie—my cousin, Hugo's son. He looked nothing like his father except for the shape of his nose.
Captain Harrison followed behind him, his uniform crisp despite the early hour.
"Miss Johnson," Captain Harrison said formally. "Dylan Ollie requested to speak with you. I'm here to supervise."
Dylan fidgeted with the strap of his messenger bag. "Hi, Juliana."
I struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as the IV pulled at my arm. "Hello, Dylan."
He'd grown since I last saw him—taller, thinner, his shoulders slightly hunched as if perpetually bracing for a blow. The stance of someone who'd lived with Hugo Ollie.
